The Instinct
by Homfrog
Summary: When two star nomads meet in a backwater diner, their interaction can be surprisingly violent, as Sylvia finds out during breakfast. After taking Wander out of the fight, she wants answers only he can provide. "What's with those claws anyway?" An alternate, original interpretation of star nomad culture.


**The Instinct  
**A _Wander Over Yonder_ fanfiction  
by Homfrog

In the vast expanses of space, where infinite blackness is only dismissed by pinpricks of ancient light, planets are occasionally hard to come by. There _do_ exist central regions of the galaxy where life-bearing planets are numerous and well-established, where life flourishes in harmony and happiness. But there are also backwater regions where the chiming chorus of the populated worlds trails off, leaving lone, droning notes too scarce to even form chords. The boundaries between these regions are almost never distinct, and in the vast expanses of space it can be hard to identify anything for certain. But headwaters in the center are surrounded by backwaters, and backwaters on the edges corral headwaters, spiraling and spinning endlessly in a galactic whirlpool dance.

Makaroggen, a dusty beige planet with blue grass, was just on the edge of the backwaters. It largely lacked in notable qualities aside from its thriving food service industry and its status as a traveler's rest stop. On one side, nearly the entire band of the galaxy shone in the night sky, and on the other side, there were noticeably fewer stars. In the day, the planet's cool vermilion sun lit the grassy plains broadly and cast its rays along the empty rolling highways that connected the towns. The locals didn't mind if weary interstellar travelers stopped in and stayed. They were a rather pleasant, somewhat zebroid folk.

Where the travelers Wander and Sylvia had stopped to rest on Makaroggen, it was daytime – just past what one could consider morning. The pair sat in a booth in a squarish diner by the side of a dirt highway. Wander kicked his legs back and forth in alternation, making the padded vinyl seat squeak. His fingers drummed on the table. He watched the alien birds sitting on the telephone wire outside, humming to himself and waiting eagerly for them to take flight.

One of the birds began to move, and Wander's grin sparkled as he put a hand to the sun-warmed glass of the window.

Then it shuffled past its neighbors on the wire, inflated a hard-hat-like crest from its bald head, and gingerly climbed down the footholds on the telephone pole.

Wander smiled anyways. It wasn't what he had expected, but then again, nothing ever was in his experience.

There was a sequence of ceramic clinks in front of him. Wander turned his attention back into the diner. A full meal was laid in front of him. He could barely believe how delicious it looked, sitting on its... single plate...?

"There you go, sir, ma'am. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, sausage, hash browns and coffee, all wrapped into our signature breakfast calzone. Enjoy your late breakfast," the waitress recited nasally, twirling her stubby pencil in her three-toed hoof as she held onto a pad of paper. "Is there anything else I can get you two?"

Sylvia answered the waitress. "No, no thanks, I think we're good to go. Thanks, uhh..."

"Thank you very much, Sondee!" Wander said, standing up on his seat and shaking her hoof with both hands while also tipping his hat.

"Y-yeah, thanks, Sondee," Sylvia muttered. The waitress trotted away. "How did you know her name?" she whispered.

"It was on her apron, _Sylvia_!" Wander whispered, and then with a hint of snide he said, "Pay a little more attention, huh?"

Sylvia sighed. "Well, better get started on this breakfast. It looks delicious, but I wonder how they managed t–" She looked across the table and paused. "Uh, you probably shouldn't eat so fast, it's pretty hot."

Wander had shoved a third of his five-pound breakfast calzone past his teeth and and was working on the second third when a pain signal connected somewhere in his head and he spat the wrap out. His tongue was bright red, almost radiant, and its surface sizzled audibly. Little jets of steam erupted from his taste buds like geysers. Sticking his tongue out, Wander waved his hands against it frantically. When that failed to cool it down, he flailed and haphazardly fell over the back of the seat, then grabbed a pitcher of iced tea being served to the alien diners seated there. In less than a second it was gone, either swallowed or boiled away by heat, and his tongue was back to normal. Well, mostly. Its color was normal, in any case. The diners glared at him, then at their waitress, who wordlessly brandished another full pitcher.

"Thylviaaah, my thung ith buuurnth!" Wander said as he clambered back onto his own seat, holding his tongue far out of his mouth while trying to talk. He was not very coordinated in performing any of these tasks in synchrony.

"Well, _you should have eaten slower_," Sylvia chided him. She held her face in her hand. "How about you go to the restroom and run it under the cold tap for a few minutes?"

"Greaah ideaa, Thylviah!" And with a bit of a twirl, he jaunted over to the restroom door, his tongue lolling out, almost hanging over his shoulder. The door creaked as he opened it, and it creaked as it swung shut.

Sylvia rested her chin on her hands. "I swear, someday he'll mistake a Bargundian porcuswine for a chocolate ice cream..." She picked up her knife and fork and began cutting herself a slice of her enormous calzone.

As she brought the first bite to her mouth, she heard the door creak, and she looked up. But it wasn't the restroom door. She turned to the front door. The morsel fell from her fork.

Entering the diner just now was a creature familiar yet unfamiliar, so much so that it was a little disconcerting. In all her years, Sylvia had never seen a second one. It was a star nomad, just like Wander. But it was clearly not Wander. Sylvia glanced back over to the restroom, which hadn't changed, then back at this newcomer.

Like Wander, he was a shade of orange; in the odd light it was hard to tell, but he was probably paler. He wore a tattered, squat hat that was shaped something like Wander's, but in a dim lavender blue. His brown shoes were similarly well-worn, even though they were made of a tougher material. He smiled, but with a mildness Sylvia had never seen Wander display. And he seemed to be a bit older than her best buddy. Maybe it was the way his lower eyelid rose up on one side, or his slightly fuller beard. Whatever it was, Sylvia was astonished. Here in front of her was another star nomad – another one of Wander's people, not a joke or a dream or a fantasy. She stood up from the booth and walked over to the newcomer, taking care to be polite.

She cleared her throat as she approached him. "Uh, hi there, sir, excuse me?"

The other star nomad turned and looked up at her. "...Do I know you?" He said with the same innocent country twang she had heard every day for years, though it had a deeper pitch.

"Uh, no, but I'm a little familiar with you, or, uh, your people. My name is Sylvia," she said, indicating herself, "and I'm a zbornak."

The newcomer eyed her suspiciously with what she guessed was his good eye. After a tick, he loudly spit on his hand and stuck it out. "Pleased to meet you, Sylvia the zbornak!"

She shook his hand, discretely wiping it on her saddle, then led him across the tiled floor. "So whatcha need?" he asked. "You need help with anything at all, Fender's your man," he said pointing at his chest with a thumb. They sat down at her booth, and she faced him directly. He smiled.

"Oh, well to be honest, Mr. Fender, I just have so many questions for you." She giggled, noting how his face up close was nothing like what she was used to.

"Shoot," he said plainly.

"Oh! Well, for starters, wh–" Sylvia was cut off by a creaking sound. She looked over at the front door, but no one was there, so her gaze passed to the restroom door.

Wander stood there stone still, shocked into silence, as he saw Sylvia and the newcomer. The door swung shut behind him.

His voice started up slow and soft. "...What in the _blue blazes do YOU THINK YOU'RE __**DOING WITH HER?!**_" And it grew into a roar that rattled the windowpanes. The diner was immediately dead quiet.

Sylvia stuttered to reply, but replied confidently. "O-oh hey buddy, you'll never guess who I found!"

The star nomad by the door said nothing as anger began to visibly seethe through him. His yellow irises expanded, giving him a beastly visage. His breathing became labored and coarse through an open mouth, his brow angled into an arrowhead. He held his arms out to his sides like a gunslinger. One by one, a set of short, sharp claws popped out from his fuzzy fingertips, each with a tiny _plink_. Sylvia looked back at Fender, intending to ask him what was going on, only to find him similarly armed. She decided to say nothing. The tension in the diner was so thick and tangibly gooey that a waitress behind the arc-shaped bar wrote it onto the daily menu.

Wander let loose a yowling scream and leapt into the air, crossing half the distance to the booth in nearly a second. Fender leapt from the booth and met him in the middle, hollering just as fiercely. The two fell to the floor in a volatile cloud of dust and violent energy. Sylvia caught glimpses of arms being bitten, chests being clawed at, necks getting stepped on, butts getting punched – it was really all out.

"Whoa-ho, wait, what?!" She jumped up from the booth and edged her way to the swarming, clouded fight that had pinned itself to the wall of the bar. It showed no signs of stopping on its own. Hesitantly, she reached a hand into the fight cloud, instantly feeling the sting of claws and teeth, but she fished around until she had pulled her buddy out by his left foot. Her arm was raw with scratches. More importantly, Wander still had every ounce of the fight in him, and he swiped his arms and strained his body toward his opponent. Fender was laying against the bar, clutching at his chest which was damp with sweat, riddled with patches of torn fur. His head was bruised, as were his legs tooth-marked, and yet he brandished his claws and growled vigorously. Wander, too, was in pretty bad shape, but he growled back.

"Hold on there, buddy, calm down," she said soothingly, although she was disturbed, turning Wander right-side up in her firmest grip. "Fender and I were just t–"

Wander spat on the ground, struggling against her. "Fender and YOU? What the hamp-crabblin' flarp were you doing with _HIM_?!"

Sylvia looked blankly at Wander and his colorful language. She glanced down to Fender, who was too injured to get up but had propped himself around a bar stool's legs. "...Do you... do you two know each other?"

Wander crossed his arms, snubbing her. "Not at all, and that's just the way I like it!" And then he leered aggressively again, his claws shining. "Now lemme at him! I need to make him _suffer_!"

Fender tried to cross his arms, but winced partway through the motion and so just put his hands to his hips. "I was here first, _Wander_, and I'll make you suffer ten times what you do to me!"

"I'll make you suffer a _hundred_ times what you do to me!" He shot back.

Sylvia was exasperated. "I can see where this is going. Someone get Fender some medical attention," she called behind her as she walked, "and you're coming with me, little buddy." She carried him in her hands out of the diner.

In the bright, almost-noon sunlight, the shadows were few and dark, and the blue grass that extended for miles on either side of the dirt road rippled in a thin breeze. Wander was breathing heavily, out of exhaustion rather than anger, but as he listened to the wind and the grass and the crunch of dirt under Sylvia's feet, he closed his eyes briefly. He gradually relaxed. Wander reached into his hat, not focused on where they were going. He pulled out a roll of bandages and some gauze and set to treating his wounds.

"You want some help with that, Wander?"

"...No. I can do it on my own."

Sylvia shrugged, jostling him. "Suit yourself."

Wander grinned softly. "I think you mean _dress_ myself." And he laughed under his breath.

"Aheh, heheh, yeah... whatever..."

The pair came to a lone tree on the plain, miles from any other tree, the diner a tiny block on the horizon. The tree's leaves were a vibrant cerulean, and its apple-like fruit was icy, glistening cold with impossible dew in the red sun's rays. Sylvia reached up and picked one, handing it to Wander as she set him beside the tree. He hesitated, but took it.

"Thank you, Syl. This looks simply lovely. You know, I never did get to eat that famous breakfast calzone."

Sylvia rubbed the back of her neck. "Another time, buddy."

She sat in front of him patiently, waiting for him to finish, to gather his thoughts. The brim of his hat fell over his eyes. When the last bandage was in place, she couldn't wait any longer.

"So, are you gonna tell me what the heck went on back there? What was that between you two? The second star nomad I've ever met ever, and you and he start tearing each other apart."

Wander looked unusually serious. "Don't. Don't mention _him_."

Sylvia swallowed. "...Is this like, a star nomad _thing_? You all fight each other out of nowhere?"

Wander dropped his gaze down to the icy apple in his hand. He took a small bite and swallowed. "There's a reason star nomads are nomads, Sylvia."

She waited. "Are you gonna tell m–"

He cut her off. "It was many, many, many years ago – before I was even born."

Sylvia waited again. "...Look, can you speed this up? Your apple is melting."

He startled. "Oh! Thank you for reminding me," he said curtly, eating it whole in three more bites and licking his fingers off. Sylvia noticed his claws were gone. He spoke up. "Well, there used to be this planet. I don't know its name for sure – Lappa, Lappa-Chippa, Chappa-Chip, something like that. It was a great place, a really nice place all around. Tall trees, big mountains, babbling brooks and rolling valleys and golden sunshine, oh it must have been _beautiful_. My ma told me all about it, as much as she knew."

Sylvia scratched her head. "You've never mentioned your mother before."

"Rightly so. Anyways, the star nomads used to live on this planet. It was their native world, before they were star nomads, before they ever had things like orbble transporters or spaceships. They didn't even know those things existed. And they lived in peace, as long as they stayed away from each other."

Wander took out his banjo from his hat and rested it on his knee, tuning it but not playing. "Star nomads, they... we... have a really strong territorial instinct." He looked to Sylvia curiously. "Y'ever see a jungle cat, a real menacing one, that stakes out a thousand acres or more and defends it to the end?"

The zbornak shook her head. "Can't say I have."

"Well I think they must be our cousins. Because star nomads love their land, they love their property, and they will defend it from any other star nomad to the brink of death and beyond. It is a _deep_ and _overpowering_ instinct, Sylvia. I mean, the earliest star nomad word for a star nomad means 'trespasser.' I do _not_ like to forgive trespassers. Way down in my guttyworks, it feels _wrong_ that any other star nomad should have what is rightfully mine."

"You mean me," she said.

Wander nodded. "Yes."

Sylvia paused. "Wait, why are you never angry about sharing anything with me?"

He twisted a knob pointedly. "I have no quarrel with you, Sylvia. Or anyone else. The instinct doesn't work like that. My beef is with my own kind. With the blood coursing through my veins, I must defend my territory and all that is mine from every other star nomad, should it come to that. I would fight them all or go down fighting. ...But I wouldn't fight you."

Sylvia sat silently.

He groaned, hanging his head back. "I _know_ in my mind, thinking about it like a mature adult, that it's a bad thing. That I shouldn't fight my brother, that I shouldn't want to fight my brother. I know that that... that _guy_ back there was just as much a do-gooder as I am, and it was wrong to sock him silly. Star nomads are real helpful, real friendly folks... but not with each other. We only learned how happy we could be when we got away from one another." He huffed heatedly, biting his lip. "And when I think about _Ffffender_ in there, eating breakfast with _you_, why, I get so worked up and so _outraged_ that I–"

There was a discordant _sproing_ from his banjo. Wander's claws had emerged on their own and several banjo strings had been cut as a result, not to mention the razor-thin grooves he had etched into the wood of the neck and head. He shook his head in shame. His claws retracted with some effort on his part, which Sylvia watched in fascination.

"I-I... well, I go crazy. Simple as that." He returned the broken instrument to his hat and retrieved it again fully repaired. Maybe it was a different banjo. He tuned the new one a bit more.

Sylvia exhaled. "Glorp, buddy, that's a lot to lay on me all at once. What's with those claws anyway?"

"Well, I gotta have some way of defending myself if you're not around. We all have 'em. But I can't really control 'em, since I use 'em so rarely. Kind of an, er, automatic thing."

"Geez. It's a lot to lay on me," she repeated. She sat watching Wander tune the instrument.

Sylvia perked up. "So what happened to the star nomads' planet?"

Wander tested his banjo with a single strum. "Hm? Oh, yeah, that's what I was tuning for. See, my ma told me about the planet in the form of a ballad – a real old one, because the rhythm used is outdated and a few of the chords are organized with older instruments in mind – but you don't care about that. It was a long time ago that I heard it, so I thought playing along would help me remember, even if I don't do it perfect."

She nodded.

He sang-spoke in a more worldly lilt, an affect that suited the age of the ballad.

_ From days and years gone by like seeds,_

He strummed between the lines and picked during them.

_ From dandelions caught in the breeze,  
__ That rides from the mountain pass far 'bove the trees,  
__ This tale is old as land and seas._

_ The hermits lived in ease and calm,  
__ They stayed their hands from causing harm,  
__ Except if another was cause for alarm,  
__ In which case they took up arms._

_ It got to such a violent churn,  
__ With blood and tears at every turn,  
__ The easiest option was simply to burn_

Wander paused and cleared his throat, then strummed a dark chord.

_ The whole danged planet down!_

Sylvia coughed. "Wait, what?"  
Wander picked up the pace, his fingers working faster.

_ With bombs arranged strategically  
__ The world was blown to smithereens  
__ In ships they'd scavenged from space-borne crashes  
__ They fled the place, singing "Ashes to ashes!"_

_ "I'll put as much distance as I am able  
__ between you and me" they cried so unstable  
__ It'd come to the point where they'd all chosen flight  
__ So they made tracks and wandered out into the night._

He finished the song with a quick breakdown, then rested the banjo face-up. Sylvia was awestruck, mouth agape.

"...Gosh, I didn't think I was _that_ good," he chuckled. "Did you li–"

"They blew up their own planet?!" She yelped, then covered her mouth and looked around. She let her hands down. "...They blew it up?"

Wander tapped his chin. "Well technically they imploded it, using some kinda force-field satellite network. The song embellishes a little, y'know, to make it more dramatic."

The zbornak clutched at her chest. "It worked! I'm dramatized! But how is that a reasonable solution at all?!"

"There was constant fighting, Syl. Lives were being lost and no one was happy. The star nomads agreed on only one thing towards the end, and that was that the planet wasn't big enough for all of them. And they were still so possessive, that if they couldn't have it, no one could. So outer space became their new territory. If I were in their position, I probably would have done the same thing."

He started tuning his banjo back to its normal setting. "Star nomads are nomads so we are no longer mad, you get it? That's what my ma told me. Two of us meet up nowadays, well, neither of us has seen the planet or remembers it in any way, but the instincts our people developed there still guide us to gouge eyes out and gnaw legs off. It's horrible." His voice dropped to a whisper. "...And it felt _good_, while I was doing it."

Sylvia sat beside Wander and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't you worry, little buddy. I'll make sure that the other star nomads stay away from you, and you stay away from them, so no one gets hurt. Okay?"

He smiled. "Okay, Sylvia." And he turned and hugged her tenderly. Over her shoulder, he muttered, "There aren't many of us left, anyways, since raising a family can be hard when you kinda wanna kill them."

Her eyes snapped open, but then settled. "I think every family feels that way sometimes, Wander."

They hugged only a short while more, then Wander stood up and stowed his banjo away. "Well, it looks like the ambulance came and went, so _he_ shouldn't be in there anymore. You wanna go finish our breakfast?" He hopped onto her back.

"I think it might be time to order off the lunch menu, actually," she said as she walked through the swaying blue grass to the little roadside diner. The vermilion sun cast Sylvia's shadow directly beneath her, and for a moment Wander peered over the side to his shadow on the dirt. It was like another star nomad was peering back up. But he paid it no mind, and just enjoyed the ride instead.

* * *

**Author's note****:** Right then, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Wrote this story in one night because I was motivated - a rare occurrence. My thought process behind this (hopefully) original interpretation of the star nomads was essentially "What if they're like a race of Fuzzy Lumpkinses who evolved from tigers?" If you want, look up information on tiger habitats to get a better picture.


End file.
